


Redaction

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lawyer hates having to deal with the pretentious douche next door…until he doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redaction

The thing is, Liam knows.

Liam knows exactly what Louis is trying to do when he struts into the office with his tailored suits and cocky grin.  He knows exactly why Louis looks at him, the associate in the office next to his with the cheap trousers and scuffed shoes, and lets his electric eyes flash with cruel humor.

That little shit thought he was  _better_  than Liam.  And maybe he shouldn’t be classifying Louis as a little shit, given that he was about two years younger than the other man, but still.  Liam had gotten a full ride scholarship and graduated at the top of his class at Harvard Law, and he’d been working for the Cowell firm ever since he’d first scored an unpaid internship before university.  And then  _he_  struts in with a huge ego and a law degree and Gucci and expects Liam to bow at his feet?  What a pretentious douchebag.

He sighs heavily as Louis comes in the frosted glass double doors in the front of the office on a rainy Monday morning.  

The cheeky bastard winks at Liam’s secretary, Niall, as he struts down the hallway past Niall’s desk. The younger man flushes a pretty red and averts his eyes back to the keyboard underneath his long fingers.  Louis doesn’t seem to take that as any sort of a brush-off; instead, he simply leans a hip into the Irishman’s desk and grins, saying something that Liam can’t hear from his desk inside the office. 

Louis’s clear blue eyes float up to him and seem to issue a direct challenge.

 _What the fuck_ , Liam thinks, frustration and anger and generally pissed-off feelings floating to the surface.   _He can flirt with everyone else in the building, but my right-hand-man is off limits_.  So he stands up from his desk and pulls at his tie, fully intending on chewing the hell out of Tomlinson, but it seems as if the other lawyer was a step ahead of him.  Louis spared a cheeky smirk for Niall before entering Liam’s office and closing the door behind himself.

The Doncaster lawyer shook the umbrella in his hand (Burberry, of course) onto the carpet, sending droplets of water across the room.  Liam’s rage is steadily building up and up, and he’s particularly impressed with himself on the fact that he hasn’t actually punched Louis in his fucking face.  He’s just so  _rude_ , and he has the sort of face that practically begs to be punched, too—pouty lips and a sharp jawline and high cheekbones.  Louis is actually gorgeous enough to make Liam hate him.

Louis is steadily unbuttoning his coat as Liam’s fingers curl into fists, basically ignoring Liam’s existence.  He puts his coat on the rack with meticulous hands, hands Liam has seen to be covered in highlighter and ink when Louis was working on a case and covered by Simon’s daughter’s skirt when he wasn’t.  And fuck, why can’t Liam stop looking at his hands?  He lets the fists go, instead opting to cross his arms over his chest disapprovingly.

That jackass still wasn’t looking.  It was as if Louis had gone into his own office and hadn’t looked directly at Liam while he flirted with Niall right outside.  Liam’s fingers dug into his biceps, and somehow, he manages to maintain an even tone when he says “Don’t flirt with Niall anymore.”

For the first time since he came into the room, Louis shifts his eyes to Liam.  And he sniggers, like what the other lawyer had just said to him was completely ridiculous.  He flops down in one of the leather chairs across from Liam’s desk and contemplates his counterpart lazily. “And why not?”  He unbuttons his suit jacket, pale hand flashing against the black.  He’s wearing Fendi today, the prat, and the faint white pinstriping against the dark is making his eyes stand out particularly brightly.  He’s looking up at Liam from his seat with sarcasm shining right through every pore.  

“Because,” Liam insists, “it’s unprofessional and immature.”  If Louis wanted to sleep with Cowell’s daughter, that was fine—she didn’t work here.  Liam wouldn’t have to come into the office every morning seeing the glossed over sheen of someone who’d just been fucked in that stupid girl’s eyes, but if Louis did that to Niall, he would never be able to escape his reach.

Louis rolls his eyes emphatically at that. “Is that the real reason?”

“Yes.”  But Liam stops at that, slips a finger underneath his tie knot to loosen it.  Suddenly, it’s feeling a little tight around his neck. “What else would it be?”

Louis stands up, long arms crossing to match Liam’s. “I think you’re jealous.”  One dark eyebrow cocks challengingly. “Are you?”

“Why would I be jealous of you?  Niall’s my secretary.”

Those icy blue eyes change at that, and a smirk that he’d seen Louis only give people he planned on sleeping with snuck onto his face.  Louis is looking at him like he is going to eat him alive, and instead of making him want to run and hide, Liam is rather grudgingly intrigued.  At least, he wants to know what Louis is going to say. “Who said you were jealous of me?”

Liam splutters. “Y-you think I’m jealous of him?  In what world would that ever happen, Tomlinson?”  And Liam’s arms are unwinding themselves from each other, because Louis is stalking closer by the second and it’s making his limbs feel strangely like jelly. 

Louis grins at him, that cruel look still in the corner of his eye, and he laughs. “I see the way you look at me, Payne.  Don’t kid yourself.” His eyes rove down the front of Liam’s body, and he can almost feel them, stroking like hot fingers down the middle of his chest. “And if I’m honest, I’ve been looking too.”

The back of Liam’s neck prickles.  He bites his lip to stop himself from saying what he wants to say, but it’s to no avail. “Have you?”

Louis can’t be much farther than a foot away.  He fishes a couple of lithe fingers over the first button of Liam’s gray vest. “Course I have.  You’re pretty hot for a pussy scholarship kid.”

Liam feels something in his chest snap in half, and before he knows what he is doing, Louis gets pushed up against the wall next to Liam’s desk, Liam’s fists clenching around the skinny lapels of his jacket.  His knuckles are pressed hard enough into the other man’s chest for him to feel his heartbeat knocking around at a sprinter’s pace.  All the traces of bitchy superiority are gone from his eyes, replaced with wide, shocked blue and a desire that’s so overpowering that Liam can’t do anything else but smash his lips to Louis’.

There’s a lot of teeth and not-so-soft bites into each other’s lips that draw blood, and it’s mostly not a nice kiss at all, filled with competition and jealousy of each other.  

It’s not a nice kiss until Louis groans lowly when Liam yanks on his silky tie.  The sound sets something low in Liam’s stomach on fire, and gasoline’s pumping though his veins just waiting to be ignited.  Louis stops pushing back, and instead, he’s got his own hands on Liam’s tie, loosening the knot and pulling both sides into seperate fingers.  He uses the bit of cloth as leverage, pulling Liam’s head down and his hips up to cant against Liam.

The movement brings Liam closer, pressing Louis all the way into the wall, but the burning in his blood is screaming for more.  The angle isn’t enough, not even close.  Liam’s hands drift down, and it’s almost as if Louis knows exactly what Liam is thinking, because he’s in the Wolverhampton man’s arms, back still pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips, in no time flat.

Liam only breaks away for a moment, threading his fingers into Louis’ too-long hair to wrench his head back.  Those once-snarky blue eyes are staring at him, lidded over lecherously, and it gives Liam a surging sense of victory. “Not really a pussy, though, am I?”

The lust in the blue eyes glaring back at him isn’t overshadowed for a second by the sarcasm that leaks to the surface. “Prove it."

* * *

Liam watches Louis leave work that day walking funny, and tries not to laugh to himself.  That is, until he realizes that the other lawyer had not only left all of his casework for Liam to do by morning, but he had also popped most of the buttons off of Liam’s only vest.

And his shirt still smells like Dior. “Fucking twat.”


End file.
